gasmaskangel 
Well brothers and sisters and people not fitting into either category, I’m getting drunk and its fucking story time with your good ole uncle, Gasmaskangel.
Once upon a time in a magic cottage deep in the sugarplum forest, which had avoided clear cutting only through the work acid head hippy fucks and the fact that trying to cut down a tree results in you being eaten by a giant frog then reincarnated as a small brass button in the distant past, there was a corpse.
It didn’t know how long it had been a corpse, or even what gender it was since all identifying sexual characteristics had long since rotted into a pile of grotesque corrutption leaving only a slimy film of on leathery skin stretched over a skeleton, all it knew was that being a corpse on the floor of a magic cottage where no one ever came to visit was dreadfully boring.
Yes, this was a corpse with dreams! It wanted to see the world! Sip wine in Paris, dine of exquisite oriental quisine in countries that had never heard of public sanitation laws, go to comic book conventions and make love to beautiful women and/or men depending on what its actual gender and sexual preference was.
So one day it got up and lurched out into the forest, the adorable talking animals fleeing in unholy terror at the shambling horror of the corpses every movement.
Now in this forest, like literally every forest on earth, there lived a witch, in this case a pedantic but otherwise good natured young women with a mousy look about her and a tendency to wear flowers in her hair and sing folk songs accompanied by badly played acoustic guitar. She would frequently accost lost travelers in the woods to explain how the image of the cackling old cannibal witch was the creation of the christian patriarchy and that in reality she followed a pure nature goddess, though the pure nature goddess always denied any association.
At any rate, the young witch was sitting in her gingerbread cottage meditating and attempting to align her chakras with the cosmos when she heard a terrific clamor coming from her garden.
She looked out so see the corpse shambling through and tripping over her begonias and the carefully separated rows of hemp and in general making a truly frightful mess.
The witch strode out to have words with the corpse, then gagged when she got a whiff of it. Truly the years had not been kind to our hero and it stank to the very heavens. In fact numerous angels had already plummeted screaming to their deaths as the stench robbed them of their senses.
The corpse was deeply embarrassed and tried to apologize, and also ask for some deodorant as a pair of angels dropped from the sky and exploded into mangled piles of gore near by and the flowers in the garden began to wilt.
Unfortunately its vocal cords and tongue were so much stinking slurry, and the sounds it produced was not so much words as they were a hideous combination of hisses and gurgles.
The witch fortunately understood corpse gurgles, and in between bouts of retching was able to tell it that it was far, far too smelly to interact with normal people.
The corpse wept. What of its dreams? It could hardly sip wine in Paris if everyone around it could not stop puking on themselves do to its smells. It asked the witch what could be done as a near by bunny committed sepakaku rather than suffer the corpse stench any longer, and the witch told the corpse the only answer she could think of. The corpse needed the goddess’s help.
Unfortunately the witch failed to specify which goddess she had in mind, but before she could clarify the corpse, which was quite distressed at the discomfort it had caused the witch, had strode back into the forest in search of the goddess.
It found a tree that vaguely looked like a woman if you squinted and tilted your head while high and suffering from advance glaucoma. And the corpse asked the tree if it could help it deal with its horrific stink.
The tree burst into flames for unrelated reasons.
Disappointed but undeterred the corpse wandered till it came upon wandering monster.
>Fight
Magic
Item
Run
Corpse strikes monster for 6 hp of damage!
Monster attacks!
Corpse’s repulsive stench sickens the monster!
The monster died of stink!
Corpse gains 2xp and 30gp!
The dead monster drop a shimmering package which the curious corpse picked up. Inside was a full pound of kalisti gold, the most potent pot possible!
The corpse was quite stressed, so it rolled itself a joint from the kalisti gold and found to its dismay that it had no way to lite the reefer, so it resumed its search this time adding finding a light to its list of goals.
It came across Little Red Riding Hood mid tryst with the Big Bad Wolf, which was gross but kind of hot at the same time and continued on, only to be set upon by a host of DEA agents.
An informant had told them through telepathy that the corpse was holding, and not wanting to take any chances the DEA surrounded the corpse with hundreds of heavily armed agents, tanks, fighter jets and a cabal of black magicians to hex the weed.
The corpse promptly shambled away from the bold defenders of freedom, all of which gave chase.
The black magicians had been a mistake, for kalisti gold is such a pure and holy strain of reefer that it repelled their magicks (the k is so you know its serious), sending its over the DEA agents causing them all to violently explode in a torrent of pig semen.
Black magick is weird.
The corpse was starting to get annoyed, and that annoyance soured its search. It met a dryad who launched nuclear missiles at the moon and mars for unrelated reasons, Margaret Thatcher who tried and failed to seduce our hero, and finally sat down upon a pile of rocks a hiss-gurgled aloud about the frustrating search for the goddess, which of course was when two of them appeared to him, following story telling law number 46c, subsection 2.
Eris rode down upon the back of a very irritated Princess Celestia who was once again recalling why she never played monopoly with Discord, it always ended like this.
“Why so down corpse?” Eris asked, producing a lighter so that corpse could partake of her sacred herb.
Corpse gurgled and hissed that it could not live its dreams for its horrific stench would immediately sour all attempts at interaction with other sapient life.
“Home nugget, you got more problems than your fearsome stank!” Eris said, “to start with you look like shit. Bein’ dead ain’t no reason to let yourself go home-shizzel!”
Corpse knew she was right and it wept to hear the terrible revelation.
“Shit,” Eris said, “don’t be down home-frankensense! There’s still lots you can do! Ya’ll just take a puff on the sacred reefer there, then head down Holy Wood way. I’ll hook you up with some of my horror movie homies, and then you can eat their fuckin spleens! It’ll be a riot!”
The kalisti gold was working, and corpse became enlightened. Suddenly it was in a casting office surrounded by screaming, delicious humans.
The next day, it was a Holy Wood sensation, people were lining up around the block to have their skulls cracked open and brains sucked out by corpse and best of all everyone involved in TMZ was fucking dead as dead could be for unrelated reasons involving a fad for pants badgers.
And they all lived happily ever after, except for the people who were dead.
Once upon a time in a magic cottage deep in the sugarplum forest, which had avoided clear cutting only through the work acid head hippy fucks and the fact that trying to cut down a tree results in you being eaten by a giant frog then reincarnated as a small brass button in the distant past, there was a corpse.
It didn’t know how long it had been a corpse, or even what gender it was since all identifying sexual characteristics had long since rotted into a pile of grotesque corrutption leaving only a slimy film of on leathery skin stretched over a skeleton, all it knew was that being a corpse on the floor of a magic cottage where no one ever came to visit was dreadfully boring.
Yes, this was a corpse with dreams! It wanted to see the world! Sip wine in Paris, dine of exquisite oriental quisine in countries that had never heard of public sanitation laws, go to comic book conventions and make love to beautiful women and/or men depending on what its actual gender and sexual preference was.
So one day it got up and lurched out into the forest, the adorable talking animals fleeing in unholy terror at the shambling horror of the corpses every movement.
Now in this forest, like literally every forest on earth, there lived a witch, in this case a pedantic but otherwise good natured young women with a mousy look about her and a tendency to wear flowers in her hair and sing folk songs accompanied by badly played acoustic guitar. She would frequently accost lost travelers in the woods to explain how the image of the cackling old cannibal witch was the creation of the christian patriarchy and that in reality she followed a pure nature goddess, though the pure nature goddess always denied any association.
At any rate, the young witch was sitting in her gingerbread cottage meditating and attempting to align her chakras with the cosmos when she heard a terrific clamor coming from her garden.
She looked out so see the corpse shambling through and tripping over her begonias and the carefully separated rows of hemp and in general making a truly frightful mess.
The witch strode out to have words with the corpse, then gagged when she got a whiff of it. Truly the years had not been kind to our hero and it stank to the very heavens. In fact numerous angels had already plummeted screaming to their deaths as the stench robbed them of their senses.
The corpse was deeply embarrassed and tried to apologize, and also ask for some deodorant as a pair of angels dropped from the sky and exploded into mangled piles of gore near by and the flowers in the garden began to wilt.
Unfortunately its vocal cords and tongue were so much stinking slurry, and the sounds it produced was not so much words as they were a hideous combination of hisses and gurgles.
The witch fortunately understood corpse gurgles, and in between bouts of retching was able to tell it that it was far, far too smelly to interact with normal people.
The corpse wept. What of its dreams? It could hardly sip wine in Paris if everyone around it could not stop puking on themselves do to its smells. It asked the witch what could be done as a near by bunny committed sepakaku rather than suffer the corpse stench any longer, and the witch told the corpse the only answer she could think of. The corpse needed the goddess’s help.
Unfortunately the witch failed to specify which goddess she had in mind, but before she could clarify the corpse, which was quite distressed at the discomfort it had caused the witch, had strode back into the forest in search of the goddess.
It found a tree that vaguely looked like a woman if you squinted and tilted your head while high and suffering from advance glaucoma. And the corpse asked the tree if it could help it deal with its horrific stink.
The tree burst into flames for unrelated reasons.
Disappointed but undeterred the corpse wandered till it came upon wandering monster.
>Fight
Magic
Item
Run
Corpse strikes monster for 6 hp of damage!
Monster attacks!
Corpse’s repulsive stench sickens the monster!
The monster died of stink!
Corpse gains 2xp and 30gp!
The dead monster drop a shimmering package which the curious corpse picked up. Inside was a full pound of kalisti gold, the most potent pot possible!
The corpse was quite stressed, so it rolled itself a joint from the kalisti gold and found to its dismay that it had no way to lite the reefer, so it resumed its search this time adding finding a light to its list of goals.
It came across Little Red Riding Hood mid tryst with the Big Bad Wolf, which was gross but kind of hot at the same time and continued on, only to be set upon by a host of DEA agents.
An informant had told them through telepathy that the corpse was holding, and not wanting to take any chances the DEA surrounded the corpse with hundreds of heavily armed agents, tanks, fighter jets and a cabal of black magicians to hex the weed.
The corpse promptly shambled away from the bold defenders of freedom, all of which gave chase.
The black magicians had been a mistake, for kalisti gold is such a pure and holy strain of reefer that it repelled their magicks (the k is so you know its serious), sending its over the DEA agents causing them all to violently explode in a torrent of pig semen.
Black magick is weird.
The corpse was starting to get annoyed, and that annoyance soured its search. It met a dryad who launched nuclear missiles at the moon and mars for unrelated reasons, Margaret Thatcher who tried and failed to seduce our hero, and finally sat down upon a pile of rocks a hiss-gurgled aloud about the frustrating search for the goddess, which of course was when two of them appeared to him, following story telling law number 46c, subsection 2.
Eris rode down upon the back of a very irritated Princess Celestia who was once again recalling why she never played monopoly with Discord, it always ended like this.
“Why so down corpse?” Eris asked, producing a lighter so that corpse could partake of her sacred herb.
Corpse gurgled and hissed that it could not live its dreams for its horrific stench would immediately sour all attempts at interaction with other sapient life.
“Home nugget, you got more problems than your fearsome stank!” Eris said, “to start with you look like shit. Bein’ dead ain’t no reason to let yourself go home-shizzel!”
Corpse knew she was right and it wept to hear the terrible revelation.
“Shit,” Eris said, “don’t be down home-frankensense! There’s still lots you can do! Ya’ll just take a puff on the sacred reefer there, then head down Holy Wood way. I’ll hook you up with some of my horror movie homies, and then you can eat their fuckin spleens! It’ll be a riot!”
The kalisti gold was working, and corpse became enlightened. Suddenly it was in a casting office surrounded by screaming, delicious humans.
The next day, it was a Holy Wood sensation, people were lining up around the block to have their skulls cracked open and brains sucked out by corpse and best of all everyone involved in TMZ was fucking dead as dead could be for unrelated reasons involving a fad for pants badgers.
And they all lived happily ever after, except for the people who were dead.
